Title: Parterre Chapter Ten c – Night Terrors
Author: Psycha (psycha underscore fairy at yahoo dot co dot uk)
Series: TNG
Chapter rating: T
Codes: C, T, P, Barclay
Chapter summary: Beverly finally figures out what's happening, but that knowledge doesn't seem to bring her closer to a solution. The ship-wide insanity leads to a first official date for Bev and Deanna, though 'date' might not be the right word…

A/N: I'm leaving for Switzerland in 6hrs, where I'll enjoy two weeks of internet-free wilderness :-) I'm planning to do lots of writing and bring the first season of Parterre to a close. Mainly so I'll no longer be tied to episodes and instead can focus on original plotlines. Also, because I feel the angst has run its course and it's time for our dear doctor to make a choice. So stay tuned… In the meantime, I hope you'll all enjoy this new chapter and I promise the next will contain some real T/C goodiness -grin-

Chapter ten c: "Night Terrors"

Sickbay was already understaffed, making the confrontation that much more difficult. "Simon?"

The young technician turned abruptly, his eyes unusually wide. "Doctor! I apologize! I didn't intend to… it won't happen again. I'm sorry, I just—"

"Simon, stop." The boy visibly reeled himself in. "I know you want to help, but you need to look after yourself too. Maybe you should take the rest of the day off, relax and get some rest."

"No, no! It won't happen again, I promise, please Doctor!" Carefully Beverly disentangled her hand from his. The panicky reaction was out of character. Simon Tarsis was usually quiet and soft spoken, never one to contradict or question orders.

Without appearing too obvious she guided him to the door. "I know, but you need some rest first."

"Please!" She was shocked to find tears brimming in his eyes. Over the last few days she'd had to take an increasing number of staff off duty. Like Simon, they had started to make mistakes that were potentially life-threatening. Healing a hair fracture with a bone knitter set to heal a femur was not a good idea. Neither was injecting someone with a muscle-relaxant instead of a stimulant. Although, when no one had looked, she'd laughed at Selar's lopsided face. "Don't send me away, I'll do better, I promise."

"It's just for the rest of the day, Simon."

"I know you don't think I'm right for Starfleet," the technician continued, oblivious to her reassurance, "but I am, please don't kick me out!"

She was still searching for a way to reply, when Deanna Troi walked up and gently took the young man by his elbow. "Simon, would you mind coming with me? I need to talk to you about something." Maybe it was surprise that silenced his desperate pleas, she wasn't sure. At least Tarsis docilely followed the counselor out to the corridor, freeing her hands quite literally to tend to patients.

It had been almost ten days since the Enterprise's attempt to tow the Brattain and they were still stuck. Sickbay was getting busier every day as more and more of the crew experienced hallucinations and paranoia. In most cases she could send them back to their quarters after documenting the case, but some injured themselves, or others and had to remain under observation.

When Deanna returned, some twenty minutes later, she'd admitted two more crewmembers and a headache was starting to pound in her temples. "Thank you."

Troi smiled, looking as tired as she felt. The counselor too had spent the majority of the past week tending to worried crewmembers and helping them deal with their hallucinations and stress. "That's all right, I owed you one for sending Reg to you earlier today." They shared a wan grimace, the engineer was testing the patience of both of them.

While she scanned the stats of the Brattain's-survivor for any new developments, Beverly resisted the urge to speak to him. His eyes, black as Deanna's, stared at the ceiling and never acknowledged her presence. In spite of the mental care and assurance Troi provided him, the man seemed no closer to coming out of his catatonic state than he had when they found him. It was almost as if whatever caused his condition was still present, yet she couldn't find any outside influence.

The quietness that enshrouded the two Betazoids unsettled her. Not because of the quiet per see, but because she could almost hear the telepathic communication, like a schism just out of reach. Perhaps it was just stress-induced paranoia?

For a few drawn-out moments she observed the pair, taking a breather from the more demanding and energetic patients. Deanna's usual serene exterior was showing more cracks each day. Her dark curls no longer meticulously groomed and circles began showing around her weary eyes. She remembered her own reflection in the mirror that morning and knew she showcased the same signs of stress and fatigue. Strangely she'd slept like a baby last night and woke up after almost nine hours of sleep. Yet she didn't feel rested at all.

"You should take a break and maybe a hypospray for your headache." This too unnerved her. More frequently Deanna would address her thoughts and feelings, which in itself wasn't anything new, but the way she did it; directly and at times without even looking at her, was what made her uncomfortable. As if the empath could hear her thoughts and feel her emotions at any given time, without having to make an effort.

"Actually," she turned away from their patient and moved to face Deanna. Perhaps in a bid to level the playing field. She didn't feel like guessing her own motives. "I think it might be time to start the stimulants." The counselor wasn't aware, or shouldn't be aware, that she'd made this decision after being called to both Riker's and Picard's aide. Both men had experienced several hallucinations and she recognized the increase in symptoms as the build up to the point of no return.

The other woman gave no outward sign of surprise or even acknowledgement. "Sleep might be more effective."

"It usually is," Beverly acknowledged. She didn't appreciate Deanna questioning her decisions. Of course she knew sleep would be the best remedy under normal circumstances. "I can't leave Selar to deal with the patients on her own."

"She's more than capable, and Vulcan."

"Vulcan or not, she's not immune."

"Neither are you." They faced each other squarely and although she held the physical high ground over the seated Troi, she felt herself shrinking under the Betazoid's stare. Two could play this game. They often tried to out bluff each other during poker games, but there seemed to be a whole different undertone to this staring contest. The air felt charged, almost crackling with energy and none of the usual mirth could be found in the counselor's eyes.

Even when their combadges activated and Picard ordered all senior staff to a meeting, she couldn't look away. Deanna's mouth quirked into a lopsided grimace and she stood up, practically charging out the doors, leaving Crusher to follow.

# # #
At least they finally knew what had trapped them, Beverly reflected while Data continued his explanation of their captor. As of yet they were unable to break free of this Tyken's Rift. All energy directed at the propulsion systems was sucked out into space before they could use it. The remainder of Data's technobabble went over her head. Could the crew's increasing stress-symptoms be caused by the energy drain as well? If the Rift could suck energy from the ship, why not from the people onboard?

"Data, in Tyken's experience, did the crew exhibit behavioral changes?"

The android didn't appear to be phased, but then he couldn't be phased. "No. There were no reports of unusual conduct among the crew."

"What about nightmares?" Unable to hide her surprise she glanced at Deanna. Nightmares? They didn't fit the established symptoms.

"There were no records of sleep disturbances of any kind, Counselor."

So for all the technical wonders and the Android's analytic capabilities, they were no closer to finding a solution or even a cause. "Then, what is it? What's happening to us?" For the third time since the start of the meeting she shot a look at Riker. The commander was rhythmically drumming his fingers on the table. The drumming stopped.

Now she was more aware of Worf's ragged breathing. The Klingon obviously felt uncomfortable and was eager to get away. The symptoms really were getting worse. Under normal circumstances his impatience wouldn't bother her, neither would Riker's drumming.

"So," Jean-Luc tugged on his collar and his eyes darted around the table, "options?"

The silence was deadly.

The meeting continued for another hour, until Picard recognized the growing irritability of his staff and ordered them all some rest. The thought of returning to empty quarters made her uneasy and so Beverly found herself back on deck twelve. After quickly checking in on the Betazoid patient and Selar, there was only one aspect of her investigation left to recheck.

With a slight dread in her stomach, she entered the morgue. Thirty-four bodies, covered with white sheets were positioned on beds spaced evenly apart. She never lost the eerie respect for the dead. It still caused the hairs on her arms and neck to stand up. The space was chilled, one of the many methods of preserving the dead that had survived for centuries. Stasis fields would do the trick, but because of the lovely characteristics of the Tyken's Rift, this wasn't something they could spend a lot of energy on. She knew that if they couldn't figure out a solution quickly, several more sections and stations would have to be shut down to save energy. The holodecks were already down.

A nurse crossing the room shook her out of her ponderings. "I'd like to do more cross sections of the brain tissue of some of these bodies. Set up the positron emission sensor in sickbay and I'll decide which ones I want to study."

He nodded. "Yes doctor."

She watched him disappear, silence took hold of the space again. Her own breathing resonated loudly in her ears and she could feel her heart rate increasing. Ignoring the irrational anxiety that grew in her stomach, Beverly pulled up a pad and tried to focus on the readings. What did she expect to find? And in which body was she most likely to—

She froze.

There's no one here, it must be her mind playing tricks with her, she was a little on edge… but she'd heard something. A rustle…

It was only sheer horror that kept her from screaming. The bodies sat up! The dead bodies moved. Her heart was beating a million miles a minute, she felt her whole body tremble with its rhythm. The pad she dropped bounced loudly off the floor, the sound sharp and hard in the quiet space. Beverly jumped back, startling again when she touched one of the sitting bodies. It must be a hallucination, she rationalized at last. It just had to be.

Finding a shred of courage, she took a deep breath and forced herself to exhale slowly, her eyes shut tightly. "Go away." When she opened her eyes a few dreadful seconds later, the bodies where back where they were supposed to be; lying flatly on the tables.

Her relieve was short-lived and she screamed when someone spoke behind her. "Beverly? Are you okay?" Her heart was back in her throat, her hands shaking. She hadn't heard anyone enter. "Beverly?"

"Deanna! I.. uh- you, why? I mean, why are you here?"

The counselor looked at her with a mix of curiosity, worry and amusement. "I felt your alarm."

For the second time in as many minutes her heart began to calm down again, although now an anxiety of a different kind was building. "I'm fine." Why was she even trying to lie to an empath?

"Really?"

She herded the counselor back to the main ward, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure all the bodies were still in place. "Just an hallucination," she admitted, avoiding Troi's eyes, but as she waited for her friend's reaction, she realized something. "Have you been hallucinating?"

Deanna shook her head, but didn't appear particularly relieved. "Not that I'm aware off." The attempt at humor fell flat.

"Any other symptoms?"

Arms crossed, the other woman watched her. "Stress, lack of sleep. Nightmares when I do sleep."

Nightmares… nightmares… This was a clue, she could feel it in her bones. The missing piece of the puzzle. "Nightmares!" The lights in her office came on when she entered. "Computer, display file… eh… file S thee oh four, no, S three oh four S N."

"What is it?" She felt Deanna move to just behind her, felt the woman's body heat, but she didn't dare to turn or reply. With mental fingers she'd taken hold of a ghostly thread of knowledge, one that could lead her through the maze of the medical questions she faced. One stray thought, one distraction, and it would slip away.

Data from the autopsies scrolled across the screen, but didn't contain the clue she could almost taste. "Computer, display crew-questionnaires of the last three days and compile." Again the screen filled with information compiles into neat tables and graphs. This time, the puzzle piece lit up brightly. "Sleep!"

"What?"

"Sleep, sleep is the answer!" It all made sense now! She just had to examine Deanna and a few other aliens and telepaths. Run a neuro-cortex scan, check hormone and neurotransmitter levels, maybe do full brain scans…

"But everyone has been sleeping."

She grabbed the counselor by the arms, hardly containing her excitement. "Exactly! Everyone's been sleeping, but no one has gotten any rest!" In Troi's eyes she could see the confusion, perhaps even a glint of professional worry, but she didn't care, she had work to do!

# # #
It took hours, but finally she'd found the maze's exit. The problem wasn't sleep, it was their dreams! Her desk looked like a Klingon picnic gone wrong; pads, tricorders and various plates with food were scattered all over the surface. Every time she'd thought of something, she had to note it on one of the pads, or she'd forget even the simplest of ideas after a matter of minutes. Some of the tests she'd run three times simply because she'd forget the test was already done.

Selar had fared a little better, but even the Vulcan had to start over after being called away to treat a crewmember. Now that they'd pieced together the puzzle, the trick was to remember how, long enough to inform captain Picard and Data. If her concentration continued down this slope, Data was their only hope of coming up with a cure.

Deanna sailed in for the fifth time in as many hours and now took away the discarded food without a word. She followed, having enough evidence to talk to Picard.

Though she encountered a handful of crewmen, the ship felt deserted. As if the crew had withdrawn into their cabins, waiting for the end. By the time she'd reached the ready room door, her heart was hammering in her throat. Quickly, she stepped inside and didn't wait for his greeting. "Captain, let me ask you this: since we located the Brattain, can you remember any of your dreams?" They were sitting opposite of each other in the ready room, his hands constantly touching his scalp. To keep herself from physically restraining him, Beverly locked her fingers together.

"I hardly ever recall dreams."

Of course he had to be difficult about it. She sighed inwardly. "Most people don't, but think! Have you even had a dream in the last ten days?" Data stood at her side, looming over her. It made her nervous. He was so silent she couldn't even hear him breathe. Data didn't breathe.

"I don't recall."

"I'm willing to bet you haven't. What's more, neither has anyone else onboard this ship. Except for Troi. I began to realize that when she talked about having nightmares." She remembered the haunted look in Deanna's eyes. Recurring nightmares were no fun even under the best of circumstances. Why was Jean-Luc staring at her? Oh right, the findings, "I've uh, done some, additional brain tissue scans on uh, the bodies, some of the bodies from the, uh," why couldn't she remember the name of the ship? She'd been studying its crew for the last two, or three, weeks. "the, the…"

"The Brattain, doctor."

"Right. And uh, I've also done some scans on a random cross section from our crew. They both have the same results." Data gave her the creeps. As unnerving as it was to see Jean-Luc exhibit signs of stress and anxiety, it was a small comfort that he was as vulnerable as the rest of them. Data on the other hand, being an android, was as calm as ever. He reminded her of one of her professors back at the Academy. What were the results again? "A unique chemical imbalance."

"Caused by?"

"Dream deprivation." The incredulity in his eyes was hard to miss. "Every night, when we… we enter into sleep…"

Helpless, she glanced at the only sane crewmember left. Thankfully, Data got the clue. "I believe what the doctor means is that humans enter into what is known as REM sleep, Rapid Eye Movement. It is the level of brainwave activity at which one dreams."

"We have to dream in order to survive! If we don't reach REM sleep we don't dream, we begin to lose our cognitive abilities, we find it hard to concentrate, we forget how to do the most ordinary tasks. Then we become irritable, paranoid. Some people experience hallucinations." Some didn't cover it anymore at this point. Every single human on the vessel had reported hallucinations and the majority of the other species present had as well.

"You're describing the situation on this ship. But counselor Troi reported nightmares."

"Maybe it's because she's Betazoid, but I don't know why." The only survivor of the Brattain was a Betazoid as well. Perhaps Betazoids were affected differently? "All I know is that there's more going on here than being caught in a Tyken's rift. And I don't know how, or why, it is happening, but I do know this," she took a deep breath, "there is an inevitable conclusion to this pattern and if I can't find a way to stop it, we will all go insane." The look in the captain's eyes was eerily similar to the one in Troi's when she'd shared her conclusion. Next to her, Data was silent.

"What are our options?" Picard asked at length.

I wish I knew, she thought. "More tests and hope we find something, anything." He scrutinized her, his gaze unnaturally intense considering their situation. "What?"

Again his hand rubbed across his scalp and he cocked his head. "You've been…" she would've laughed, it wasn't like Jean-Luc to trail off mid-sentence, but his eyes lost their focus. His expression faltered, turned serious. "You…" Silence prevailed, but he only allowed it a short victory, then grumbled. "You've been working hard, you should take some rest first." That wasn't what he'd intended to say, she knew him well enough.

"As long as we can't dream, rest won't help. I'd better head back to… uhm?" This was getting to be annoying.

"Sickbay."

"Right. Data, right." She had to return to sickbay to… to do some more tests. "I'll let you know as soon as I find something."

"Thank you, doctor." They nodded while Data remained as unmoving as a statue. She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes before leaving the room.

During the short trip to sickbay, she tried to come up with a list of tests, but every few meters, she'd forget half of it. The lobby on deck twelve was empty and, now that she thought about it, so were the corridors. She'd expected the entire crew to show up at her doorstep as the symptoms continued to worsen.

The screen spun in front of her eyes as she desperately tried to compile a list of all the necessary tests. The three key questions: how, why and in what way?, were crystal clear in her mind. Her professors had beaten those question into her during her Academy days. Maybe so much so that even amnesia couldn't defeat them. They offered a welcome anchor.

# # #
Another day had passed since her decision to give the senior staff and other personnel in charge of departments, stimulants. Hoping it would allow them better functioning. In the worst case scenario, Data could take command, perhaps he could even keep the ship running on his own. More doubtful was his ability to also conduct the necessary medical tests to find a solution for their predicament.

So, it came down to one Beverly Crusher, chief medical officer.

The next hypospray screamed at her from the edge of the tray. Her nerves were shattered and each hour her concentration slipped further away. As a doctor she knew how important REM sleep was, but it was something else to actually experience it. Every sound made her jump and she nearly screamed when Alyssa laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Captain Picard is asking for another dose of stimulant."

Beverly's eyes flicked back to the hypo. Jean-Luc's last dose had been three, no, two hours – hers had been four, or was it five? hours ago. She needed it more. If she made a mistake, people would die. He was the captain, he… "Wait another hour, then give it to him."

The nurse nodded, brown eyes skittishly glanced to the prone form of the sole surviving crewmember of the Britain. "It's eerie." Alyssa indicated Troi, who had been sitting next to the rescued Betazoid for hours on end.

Patients and staff were unnerved by the lack of verbal communication. It was clear that in spite of the utter silence, plenty was being said. The Betazoid, Andros Hagen, had been cata- catatonic since they'd found him, but Deanna was determined to get through to him.

There was something ghostly about telepathic communication, but she often found her gaze drifting back to the two aliens during the tests. She felt better having the counselor here, as if her mere presence would somehow keep all of them sane.

She didn't feel particularly sane.

Again she eyed the hypo. Maybe it would do away with the images of Deanna, naked. "No," she mumbled, "no more," too much st… stimulant was harmful. But she felt so frayed.

"Doctor?"

"Huh? Oh, yes." Blushing she read the data on her tricorder, trying to make sense of the little numbers and symbols. "Right, uh, mister Barclay."

The man looked at her with anxiety that couldn't all be written off to the lack of dreams. "I-I'm g-going to die, aren't – aren't I?" On the best of days the hypochondriac engineer tested her patience. Quickly she glanced back over to lieutenant Homes, who patiently underwent yet another brain scan. So far, none of their treatments had any effect.

Beverly sighed. "You're fine Broccoli, just slowly going insane like the rest of us." Ignoring the engineer's halting complaints, Beverly headed over to the two silent Betazoids in the corner. Deanna looked as tired as she felt and it took the counselor a few moments to notice her. She wondered, while waiting for Troi to turn around, if they'd die in the same way the crew of the Brattain had. And if so, would Deanna become catatonic? Already it was clear the younger woman was feeling the strain of the stress around her.

"I'm sorry Reg is such a pain." Even now the Betazoid looked beautiful and it was only by virtue of weeks of practice that Beverly could hold back the hug she wanted to give.

"That's all right, he's only been in here twenty or thirty times." Troi's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, nor did Crusher's. "We need to talk." Damn it, why did she have to blurt that out? Should've taken the damn hypo. "Sorry, I didn't mean… just when, if, we get out of this… this rift, we should talk." Very smooth Crusher, definitely losing your mind.

Deanna looked at her, scrutinizing her feelings with wide eyes, black as the space they were trapped in. "Yes," she replied at length, "yes we do."

"Okay, good. I'll just, erm, go back, you know, my tests." Quickly she turned, almost running to the main hall, her stomach tying itself in Gordian knots.

The tests went on for another hour and each minute her concentration and hope dwindled a little further. Her hands started shaking fifteen minutes ago and she felt weak. Perhaps she should eat something, but then the mere thought of food made her nauseous. The neurotransmitter beeped excitedly with each new byte of data. She wanted to kick the damn thing. It wasn't like the information was getting them anywhere.

She couldn't run to her quarters and hide, but she certainly wanted to. Everyone who entered sickbay stared at her, demanding answers when she was still pondering the questions. All the scans were inconclusive, except those that merely confirmed what she already knew.

And while stimulants provided some respite for a small part of the crew, she knew it was nothing more than a delay. If she didn't find a way to block the interference, they would all die much sooner than any one of them cared for.

Right now, it seemed inevitable.

She noticed Deanna coming towards her and suddenly couldn't contain her fears anymore. "Deanna, nothing's working. I've tried somatic drugs, I've tried inducing theta waves in the

entorhinal cortex... no matter what I do, no one can reach REM sleep. No one can dream, except you!"

Troi snorted and turned her troubled eyes to the crewmember on the biobed. "Except me. And all I have is nightmares." The tremble in her voice almost cracked. "I can barely sleep at all anymore." The universe was jerking them around once again. She could sleep, but not dream. Troi could dream, but not sleep. "In the end," she followed the empath's gaze, eyes coming to rest on a patient already beyond her help, "I'll be like him. Just like him."

Silence came and conquered. She wanted to comfort, give hope, but came up short. There were no reassurances she could provide, she could barely keep up the semblance of hope for herself.

Deanna, as always, appeared to understand her frustrations and smiled thinly. When a hand touched hers, she returned the smile in kind; dreadful. "Maybe you should give sleep another go? The nightmares might have stopped."

Deanna's smile turned wry, "Somehow I don't think so. No, I'll just stay here and suffer with the rest of you." They both grinned – genuinely – and selfish as it was, it was a relief not to be left alone.

Tbc…